Off The Rails. 10,000 km by Bicycle Across Russia, Siberia and Mongolia to China

303 Pages·2003·3.91 MB·English

by  Chris Hatherly

To Mum and Dad,
for your unending love, courage and support, and for
letting me see the world through such a special lens. TC
In loving memory of Jean Brown:
your love made this journey possible. CH
Find out what you want, find something you really care about. When you
know what you want the rest follows. But don’t just drift off into something
because it offers security. Security is never worth a damn. We’re meant to live
and to live means living dangerously, half on the edge of trouble, half on the
edge of achievement.
Hammond Innes, The Strode Venturer
Contents
Map
Diagram of Recumbent Bike
Foreword
Daring to Dream
Sad Beginnings
Breaking the Ice
Fighting the Snow
To the Urals
Into Siberia
Bruce
Finding Our Way
Alone
Off the Rails
Riding the Taiga
Siberian Paradise
Riding Rough
Blood, Sweat and Sand
End of the Road
An Incredible Journey
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Plate Section
About the Authors
Also by Tim Cope
Map
Diagram of Recumbent Bike
Foreword
Toward the end of 1999, we began our journey on recumbent bicycles across
Russia, Siberia and Mongolia’s Gobi Desert, to end in Tiananmen Square,
Beijing. We were twenty at the time and spoke minimal Russian. To complicate
matters, we knew very little about Russia itself, and almost everyone we spoke
to said we were on a suicide mission.
Why did we persevere?
Beyond craving for adventure and wanting to turn a dream into reality, we
wanted to prove to ourselves and to others that alternative ways of living exist;
that with hard work and perseverance dreams can be made to come true. In the
spirit of youth, we believed that the world was brimming with endless
possibilities. We didn’t want uncertainty to stop us from living our dream.
Writing a book about our experience was something we wanted to do from
the beginning. The process would complete the dream, providing the opportunity
for us to reflect on our journey and, just as importantly, to share our experiences
with others. To do that, we had to write from the heart, honest and truthful.
We approached a few publishers, to no avail. After many frustrating months,
out of the blue, came an e-mail from Executive Publisher Julie Watts, at Penguin
Books. She’d heard us being interviewed on radio and thought we were ‘role-
models for young people’. Our chance to run the last leg of the journey had
arrived.
Writing the manuscript has proved every bit as difficult and rewarding as
cycling across Siberia. To complicate matters, we had agreed to write the
manuscript together, alternating chapters throughout the book. After fourteen
months of living in the same tent, would our already weathered relationship
survive another epic?
In these pages we wish to share the people, landscapes and insights that made
the journey special. We also hope that our accomplishments will infect others, so
they too may turn half-baked ideas into reality. If two twenty-year-olds can ride
‘couches on wheels’ half way across the world, then surely anything is possible.
Tim Cope and Chris Hatherly
January, 2003
Daring to Dream
———
Tim
The Finnish border guard looked bewildered.
‘Are you crazy? You are sure you want to do this?’ He shook his head.
‘Yep,’ I replied, feigning confidence.
‘Well, just be very careful. You know what those Russians are like. Russia is
dangerous! Even we Finns don’t go to Russia alone, especially for such a long
time. But an Australian, by bike?’
With a look of sincere pity he stamped my passport and handed it back. I
offered him a nervous smile and strode out of the swish customs building. My
Russian chauffeur, Alexsei, was waiting outside.
‘C’mon, c’mon, Tim, faster. We are running late!’ He nagged in Russian from
behind the wheel of his clapped-out old van. As usual he was wearing a worn-
out leather jacket and a lopsided baseball cap over his thinning hair.
After several attempts at starting the engine, it spluttered spectacularly into
life. I leapt into the front passenger seat and before I had even closed the door,
we lurched forward under the rising boom gate.
Then Finland was behind us.
It was only a kilometre or so across no-man’s land to Russian customs but it
dragged out in a long dreamlike sequence. I held the ill-functioning door shut,
and felt my head bobbing up and down with the convulsive rattle of the van. For
many months I had been working towards this day but in all that time, I had not
clearly thought out the reality of what I had decided to do. My plans were still as
vague as they had been from the beginning: I am going to ride a bike with my
friend Chris, 10 000 kilometres across Russia, Siberia, Mongolia and China to
Beijing.
Between stretched a realm of mythical places, far off wonderlands. I had a
vague understanding that between us and the end lay snow, cold weather and
even the Gobi Desert in Mongolia. It was a prospect that tempted my
imagination and left me feeling frighteningly exposed, naïve and young. The
size of the land alone was dumbfounding: Russia and Siberia cover more than
twice the mass of Australia. In all that vast landscape, what kind of people would
we meet? Would we come through it alive? Was it possible to ride in Siberia? If
we did make it, what would I be like at the end? We hadn’t looked at any maps
beyond the world atlas, didn’t know how long it would take, and I had barely
been on a bike in the past two years, and then never for great distances.
10 000 kilometres? It might as well have been a million. All I knew was that
it was a bloody long way. From the outset I had been repressing a fear that
maybe I didn’t have what it took to endure such a mammoth challenge. I had
enough money to live on a budget of US$60 a month – and that was only if the
journey took one year. What if it took longer?
My chest grew tight and a tangle of emotion balled up in my throat.
I had been based in Finland for fourteen months. During that time I had
grown attached to the country and developed strong friendships. In recent
months I had fallen into a comfortable relationship with a Finnish girl. Leaving it
behind felt like severing ties with everything that had become a part of myself.
My thoughts were interrupted as the van came to an abrupt halt in front of the
Russian border post. I pulled out the little document from my passport and re-
read it for the hundredth time: ‘Twelve month Russian Visa’.
The fragile bit of paper was the only tangible security I had. I first visited
Russia almost a year ago. I had felt an inexplicable connection with the country,
as if a part of me had lain dormant and suddenly sprung to life. I had known
instantly that Russia was where I wanted to be: to travel, live, explore and
experience.
It was also reassuring to think that I was embarking on this journey with a
special friend, Chris. I remembered our brief time at university in Canberra,
where we had met. In all honesty, I couldn’t think of a more ideal partner.
I took a deep breath, clutched the passport and approached the guard on duty.
The female guard smiled. Her bright red lipstick contrasted with the drab khaki
uniform she wore. ‘You are really Australian?’ she asked. She made several calls
and some officials whisked away my passport for processing.
After some deliberation I was waved through customs. Back in Alexsei’s van,
I was surprised to find two men squeezed into the front and three giggling
women in the back with my gear.
‘Let’s go Alexsei. Time to go home!’ one of the men roared. He was a little
drunk, as were the others. It took me a few moments to realise why Alexsei had
been in such a rush: the extra passengers were the border guards who had just
finished work.